Sunday, March 31, 2013

It has been an overwhelming Easter weekend at our farm house in Alibag. These pics say it all.... or... wait a minute.... do they? Getting my half-a-dozen children together under the same roof was challenge number one. But it happened! Making sure my grand daughter made the most of the pool and beach was a cake walk! She is a natural water baby.
The sea was rough and choppy. But the moon, Orion and Great Bear in the clear night sky made me forget the rough ride.... it goes without saying, the champagne helped! I hope all my Blogdosts had a good weekend, too!
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This appeared in Sunday Times today.....

If I were
Zaibunissa Kazi…

Question:What is the one thing Zaibunissa Kazi
seems to have done right in her 70-plus years? Answer: She has produced one
hell of a smart daughter! Listening to Shagufta Kazi arguing her mother’s case
across countless television channels,it
became abundantly clear that here was a young woman who knew how the
media game is played. Tutored or not, her presentation was faultless. She stuck
to her script and refused to budge from her “My mother is not guilty,”
position. Shagufta’s timing was impeccable as well. And her emotional pitch
must have touched countless soft hearts – including Markandey Katju’s.
Suddenly, the focus shifted from Sanjay Dutt and his Bollywood buddies, to an
ailing old lady’s tragic condition. She was sick… she was dying… she had
suffered for a crime she had not confessed to…twenty years later, she was being
sent back to jail… prison life would definitely kill her… besides, she was
innocent! It was a brilliant strategy – and it worked! Sorry for the cynicism.
But the way this entire saga is going right now ( one sob story after another),
makes one wonder whether we need a Supreme Court in India at all! If verdicts
are there to be questioned and challenged by any and everybody, why bother with
the long drawn out judicial process in the first place? What we are witnessing
today, is nothing but staged high drama involving high profile public figures,
playing on the country’s emotions. Certainly, asking for pardon is the
prerogative of every citizen.And one
must hand it Sanjay Dutt ( it’s really pretty obscene to keep referring to a
54- year- old man as ‘Sanju Baba’ ) for making his position clear on the issue
(“No thank you,” he says). But this particular case is not an ordinary one. The
horrific terror attacks on Mumbai, left 257 dead, and 713 injured, making this
one of the best planned and most devastating terror attacks in the world. Those
implicated have had 20 years to think about their involvement… and express
remorse. One hasn’t come across an apology so far. It seems incredible that the
accused expected fellow citizens to forgive and forget what took place in 1993,
considering it was fellow citizens who were under attack in the first place

Markandey Katju is an enigma. Or maybe, he
is just another retired Judge seeking political office like several others
before him. He insists he has examined the case thoroughly before offering
support and intervention. Most citizens would have problems with the learned
former Judge’s stand. It is hard to find ‘sympathy’ for those who were willing
to endorse the killing of innocents in cold blood. It is harder still to accept
the argument that a man in his thirties at the time ( Sanjay Dutt), thought it
fit to keep an AK-56 for “self-protection”! One assumes he would have
used the deadly weapon against fellow Indians, had such a need arisen? Dutt has
an entire army of supporters working for him right now – and good luck to the
actor. It is hard not to like this affable
man mountain . But hello! A verdict is a verdict, no matter how adorable
the accused and regardless of how much
money is riding on him. Dutt has taken it on the chin and is being a man about
it. That leaves Zaibunissa and her smart daughter. If I were in Zaibunissa’s
place, I would leave it to Shagufta to fight my battle. Shagufta is far more
savvy than a battery of lawyers. She can
also teach the cleverest P.R. professionals a thing or two about pitching a
story that tugs at millions of heart
strings. All that remains for this duo to do is to hire a high profile
celebrity – and fire the rest of their advisers ( assuming they exist).
Celebrities these days rent by the hour and can be easily convinced to come on
board, when the case is this media-driven. Zaibunissa’s projection as a
seriously ill, tormented victim with a failed kidney condition, has already
worked in her favour. And Shagufta has shrewdly taken the ‘Trial by public
opinion’ route.As for the bleeding heart
Judge Katju, one can see where he’s coming from, and more importantly, where he
is going.

That leaves the families of the dead and
injured. Aaah – them! Well… ummm… yes. Poor things. Something must be done for
them soon.But before that – how about pardoning Sanjay Dutt and Zaibunissa
Kazi?

Friday, March 29, 2013

Blogdosts.... that's Arundhati and moi pretending to ski! What a glorious day it was at Wonderfall in Limone! Unfogettable in every which way...
Have a relaxing Easter Weekend, guys. We are off on a heavy duty family retreat at our home in Alibag.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Blogdosts, remember.... you did say "Öui"' when I asked!
So... here are a few early, first day/night images shot by moi on my faithful Leica ( Thank you, Gitaaaah - it remains one of my most cherished birthday gifts!).
From the top: Roses (white - in case you thought they were red, ha ha ha), Champagne (Pommery) in the chiller, chocolates ( Hediard - the best, after the Japanese brand Royce). Now - that's what one calls a royal welcome! Nobody does it better than the Hermitage.
And the ceiling view of the chandelier is of our lovely, blue themed suite.
That's the magnifique Belle Epoque breakfast room which opens out to a terrace. Followed by a lobby view. And an incredible early evening vista of the yachts- jammed harbour as seen from our balcony. F Finally, the farewell bow and last curtain call at the Opera "Ámica'' ( written in 1905, and just revived).
There's more where those came from. All you have to do is give me a thumbs up!
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Happy Holi. May the good times roll. And may Holika do her job tonight by destroying evil forces, as the Holi fires burn across India and hungry flames lick the sky.

Monday, March 25, 2013

To the best of my knowledge, my mother had
never gone anywhere close to a crematorium – electric or otherwise. It simply
was not done in those days for women to be present at funerals. It was a
strictly male thing. A masculine ‘duty’. Women were meant to be protected from
having to deal with the nitty gritties of death. They involved themselves with
other social obligations at such times. Like my grandmother would say after hearing about a death of a
relative or family friend, “ Let us pay a visit and meet the grieving ladies of
the house.” Women mourned privately. They said their final goodbyes from a
distance as the body was taken away, wiping their tears discreetly and hugging the lady closest to them for comfort.
I had asked aie and aji why women were not allowed to join male mourners and
they had replied evasively. The ‘smashaan’ was no place for ladies, they’d
said. Traditionally,women had no role to
play during the last rites. I had found this custom strange and unfair . But had
kept mum.Since when did grief get divided along gender lines? I was fed some
mumbo jumbo about menstruation, pregnancy and defilement.Absurd! I made a personal pact with God and convinced
myself it was okay to break rules and
say ‘goodbye’ properly to someone I loved deeply without worrying about divine
repercussions. By the time it was my turn to see off loved ones, the social environment
had changed sufficiently to ‘allow’ women into the crematorium…. and even light
the funeral pyre.

Today, women don’t have the time to attend
funerals or even offer personal condolences. I am ashamed to say it happened to
me last fortnight. I was travelling when I heard the tragic news about Viren
Shah’s death in Jordan. I had known Virenbhai for close to forty years . I
remembered the twinkle in his eyes and the many happy evenings my husband and I
had spent gobbling sev puri and other Gujarati snacks at his home in Mumbai,
and later, in the Raj Bhavan in Kolkata when he was the Governor of West
Bengal. I recalled listening to Virenbhai regaling his rapt audience with
hilarious stories of his many political adventures. I couldn’t quite believe he
had passed away in a distant country. While my husband made it to his funeral,
I couldn’t. I said a prayer for Virenbhai in my heart, thought fondly about his
lovely wife Anjuben,mentally reached out to my good friend, his son Rajesh…and
that was that. Till… I could bear it no more. This was truly pathetic…
disgraceful! I sent a heartfelt text message to Rajesh, and felt better. But
only a little. I should have asked for time from Rajesh and his wife Bansri,
gone and met them and done what is the appropriate thing under the
circumstances. But I was travelling again (lousy excuse!) . This was just so
unfortunate. Now, it will be weeks again before we can connect in a meaningful
way.

And that’s how the cookie crumbles. But it
really shouldn’t. Surely, we can all make time in our frenzied and hectic lives
to honour the memory of those we have shared wonderful moments with? I was away
when another stalwart - Kekoo Gandhi, died. And more recently, Kali Modi. All
three were exceptional men – and true bon vivants – loved and adored by
countless admirers. I knew them. I loved them. But I wasn’t there. This is
going to be one of the tragedies of our times. Births and deaths will happen.
Some of us will pause and note both. Some will make it a point to visit the
family and express joy / sorrow. Some will say ‘Later.” And that ‘later’ will
never come. I am feeling guilty. I am feeling ashamed. No, I am feeling truly
terrible.

What should guilt ridden women do under
such circumstances? I’d say try and make up the best way they can. It’s never
the same thing. But it sure beats self-flagellation or going into denial. It’s
a tough one. The next generation of
career women is going to get busier still.Work harder.Travel more. Soon, we may
forget what it means to pay a condolence visit.There will be no one left to pass on the protocol.Teach others how
to behave at besanas , uthamanas , shraddhs and wakes . That will be as big a
tragedy as the death of the loved one itself .

Here I am at the Dubai International airport, waiting for my flight to Mumbai. I have still to recover from the magnificence of the charity ball organised by the Grimaldi family in Monte Carlo. Ever since Princes Grace started this tradition, The Rose Ball, as it is popularly called, attracts the top international names across the board and is one event that strongly marks the crowded Monaco social calendar (over 600 events in 365 days!) and heralds Spring. Well... we all know what happened to Spring in Europe this year! But I was lucky to enjoy two very sunny and glorious days at a destination that defines glamour. The Ball itself ,was designed by a legend - Karl Lagerfeld. And was his tribute to the Belle Epoque. Naturally, it was opulent and creative, extravagant and magical. I tried hard to meet Monsieur Lagerfeld, but the security cordon around him was impoaaible to crack. I also tried to grab a few shots of the exqisitely stunning Princess Charlene - same story! Toh kya hua? The India table was well represented. We wore our beautiful sarees with pride. Our Ambassador looked pleased. Princess Diya Kumari of Jaipur looked splendid in red.And we also had a wow-wow Bond Girl ( Casino Royale) at our table, all thanks to Patrick Medecin, Monaco's Ambassador to India. I have a feeling, India and Indians will be the new darlings of this jewel of a Principality soon. As of now, I spotted several Chinese billionaires. And of course, the Russian Oligarchs clad head to toe in Sable. Mink. Silver Fox. Chinchilla.
Great pics coming up. Raise your hands and say, "Oui!"

Monday, March 18, 2013

From the arid sands of the Dubai desert to the salubrious Cote DÁzur....am off for a few days.... zipping to colder climes. Monaco and the super glam Rose Ball beckon....more on my return next week, post -Holi. Till then, au revoir... mes amies.

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This appeared in The Week...

Jump! And save
yourself…

I had no idea that the Mumbai Police had
started a 17 member Hostage & Crisis
Negotiation Team last year, till I read about the timely intervention of
Shalini Sharma, a team member, who talked a 17- year- old girl out of jumping
from the seventh floor of her building in Bandra. In her interview with a local
tabloid, Shalini recounted the two-and-a-half hour ordeal, during which her training ( at Scotland
Yard, no less) was tested. She said the team specializes in decoding the body
language of the ‘target’. In this case, she found the suicidal girl looking
angry and confused. There was no time to waste. Shalini launched into what is
termed ‘calculated bargaining.’ Over an
hour of skillful negotiations later, Shalini came up with a brainwave and
managed to hand over a cell phone to the panic stricken girl. After that, it
was comparatively easy.

The
thing that struck me about this incident is how vulnerable our young are today.
And how we have failed to recognize their fragility. As Shalini pointed out
after the girl was rescued, “ All she wanted was someone to talk to…” Obviously,
nobody had been listening to her cries for help for a long, long time… not her
family, not even her friends. Loneliness is going to be the new killer in urban
India. But we have yet to wake up to the seriousness of the condition. The bald
and sad truth of the matter is that there are more and more terminally lonely
people in our cities than ever before. And nobody has the time for them.We used
to pride ourselves on providing support to those most in need of it – our youth and the elderly. Today, both
are in the same boat – marginalized, neglected and ignored. The young feel
diminished and degraded. The elderly, unwanted and useless. Clinical depression is on the rise, but we
fail to identify it for what it is – an illness. We get impatient and angry if
someone close to us withdraws and sinks into a deep, dark well of negative
emotions. Especially if that person appears fine in all other respects –
physically fit, energetic and educated. We accuse such people of faking their
condition. Of being lazy. Of seeking attention. Of behaving ‘badly’. The elderly have little
choice but to put up with the taunts of those around them. But the young
demonstrate rage and give vent to frustration. That is when suicides happen.
Cornered and filled with despair, only one solution presents itself – instant
death. How tragic!

We remain unsympathetic and callous even
when faced with such a drastic situation. Rarely do parents of disturbed teens
turn the spotlight on themselves to ask, “Where did I fail my child?” Sometimes,
this introspection comes a bit too late in the day. In the case successfully
handled by Shalini Sharma, I continue to
fear for the girl. She may have been saved this one time. But who’s to say she
won’t attempt something similar in future? And if that happens, Shalini Sharma may not be around to negotiate
with the troubled teen and persuade her
to get off that dangerous ledge. We
don’t want to bother with the delicate state of such a person’s mind. We don’t
know whether or not her family is happy to see her alive after the ordeal. What
if she is told as much? Imagine the irony of it all. To start with, there was
nobody to talk to. Leaping off the ledge
seemed like the only way out. Then came
a savior. But there was still nobody to talk to! What happens in such a grim
scenario? I shudder to think.

For the young, unhappy children of our
society, family still remains the primary source of love and comfort. Friends
follow. But all that is rapidly changing. Friends have replaced family in a lot
of metros.Friends seem to have more time and better understanding of problems.
Working parents often need therapy themselves, unable as they frequently are to
cope with their own problems. Grand parents no longer live with the family. The
larger circle of aunts, uncles and cousins does not exist. Teachers of the old
school who actually cared about the emotional state of their students ,
disappeared with the dinosaurs. An abiding sense of rejection (“ Nobody sends
me Friend requests on FB” ) supersedes virtually everything else . The world
appears hostile and dangerous. What does a young person do in such a
nightmarish situation? Look for that welcoming ledge. And jump.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

My darling and highly creative friend Chanda Narang who runs Frazer & Haws, is always ahead of the curve when she inspires her team to come up with new concepts and designs in silver. I was in Delhi this week for Spring Fever and was delighted to have dinner with Chanda at Tres ( Delhi's latest, smartest and uber hip bistro). Her store at Khan Market happens to be cheek by jowl to Tres. I checked out Chanda's latest creations and fell in love with these two. What do you think of them? Beautiful or what????

And yes.... do contribute to a good cause....the campaign has just kicked off. Remember , even 500 rupees can change a little girl's life forever.

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This appeared in Sunday Times today...

Viva Italia!

What is there not to love about Italy and
the Italians? Errrr…. we’ll get to the Marines later. Let’s start counting first : We have flipped en masse for Italian cuisine.Eating Italian has become a
big, fat food trend across the country. And this generation of Indian bachchas
would rather pack pasta for their nashta
than parathas. Every nukkad has a pizza parlour
these days. Gelatos may soon replace kulfi. We also love Italian wines
and cheeses. Italian olive oil and tomatoes. Parmesan and Mozzarella have more
takers here than the humble paneer and chhana. We listen to Italian opera – aah
Pavarotti! Oh Domingo. We love their movies and movie stars. Our film buffs
have watched Fellini,Visconti.Antonioni and worshipped Mastroianni ( Marcello,
to you) for decades. Generations of desi men have fallen in love with Sophia
Loren, Gina Lollobrigida and Monica Bellucci.While women have swooned over De
Niro and Di Caprio. Will the wild female fantasy of the Great Latin Lover never
end?How can we overlook Italian design? Italian shopping? The unmatchable
leather boots and saddles? Handbags and shoes? All those impeccably crafted objects
of desire, guaranteed to make shopaholics go weak in the knees season after
season? Have we forgotten their silks and gowns? Fancy frocks and haute
couture? No, no, no. How can we not recognize the obvious – ‘Made in Italy’
means ‘Made in Heaven’? No wonder planeloads of tourists from India land up in
Rome, Pisa, Venice,Napoli, Capri, Milano in search of the perfect vacation.
Well- heeled travellers book their favourite villas in Tuscany months in
advance and talk knowledgeably about the joys of eating al fresco at their
favourite neighbourhood bistro. Si,si si
– it’s true - Indians do go gaga over all things Italiano. But…all
that may be a thing of the past now.

So, why has India’s love affair with Italy suddenly ended, not with a bang but a
tantrum? Well, there is that nasty little business involving two maddeningly
attractive Italian Marines with maddeningly melodious names (Salvatore Girone
and Massimillano Latorre). They have been really, really naughty. In our part
of the world, we’d call them murderous. But in Italy, these things happen. Guns
go off. Innocents die. Bad stuff takes
place And then finito! It’s all over. It happens like that in India as well.
But what happens in India, stays in India. In Italy, things work a little
differently. Promises are made. Assurances given. Lawyers and governments get
involved.Two naughty Marines are locked up . And everybody waits for a fair
trial. Then the Italians work on our soppy sentiments and play the X’Mas card.
Awwww! We say. Poor guys. They want to spend X’Mas with their families. Let
them go. They’ve promised to come back. And they will! Surprise, surprise! They
do come back! And all of us heave a sigh of relief and say, “See! Those Marines
kept their word.” We relax a little. The families of the murdered fishermen
don’t. They know something we refuse to acknowledge. The Marines are not to be
trusted. Nor is the Italian government . But, we allow the accused men go back to Italy once again. This
time to cast their votes. “They’ll be back. Just like the last time…” we say.
Ooooopps! That doesn’t happen. They change their minds. They are not coming
back in a hurry. In fact, they are not coming back at all! Deal with it! Our
chaps look terribly foolish as they tch!tch! and take the Italian Ambassador
Daniele Mancini, to task. He remains as cool as those gelatos we love and makes
all the right diplomatic noises. Italy is our friend, we say, somewhat
unconvincingly. But this is an act of hostility, someone pipes up. Contempt of
our courts, roar those who don’t particularly like Italians…. especially one
Italian lady who lives in Delhi. Blood is thicker than water, snipes a neta.
Whose blood? What water? There is anger and confusion all around. Women who
love their Italian bags, shoes, clothes and jewels, wonder whether it would
appear unpatriotic to flaunt them in public now. “We must stand by our
country,” they declare virtuously, and promise to boycott the Fashion Week in
Milan this year. Roadside vendors of pizzas switch to selling dosas. It’s time
for solidarity, we insist. Forget olive oil, it’s about time the Italians
extended an olive branch, declare apoplectic politicos. La Dolce Vita does not
look all that ‘dolce’ any more. And the Italian lady in Delhi is in no mood to
get into this mess. Arrivederci! Ciao! It’s time to say goodbye to the
absconding Marines. As for the dead fisherman and their grieving families… they
will probably be taken care of the old fashioned way. For a few Euros more… of
course. And they should remember to say ‘Grazie’ nicely when that happens!

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Still in Dubai mode, as you can see! That's Anandita enjoying her camel ride ( I don't have the stomach for it).

Penguin's Spring Fever in Delhi started off on a high note with Mahesh Bhatt in conversation with me. It was warm , lively and wonderful. I was deeply touched that Mahesh took the time to fly into Delhi, do this for me, and fly out. That's what makes Mahesh, Mahesh...

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This appeared in Mumbai Mirror today.....

Women : Get
in touch with your inner tycoon!

I am a fairly recent FB convert, so forgive
me if I sound confused. For the longest time my FB account was handled by my publishers who wisely believed
it was a great marketing tool. I had no idea what went on in that space, but
when total strangers began accosting me to say cheerfully “We are your FB
friends,” I became somewhat alarmed. And decided to log in to find out who
these ‘friends’ were. It was a deeply embarrassing , almost scary experience. I
checked with my children who bluntly told me to stay off FB (“It’s not meant for your age group,”). They
were right. And also a little wrong. Women across the world NEED their FB fix.
More than half the one billion users of FB happen to be chicks. Now, I am one
of them. It has become my best stress buster. And I do get a vicarious kick out
of following the lives of people I
barely know through their manic updates. Having tasted blood, I decided to open
my own, personally driven FB account. I was such a novice at it and so very
clumsy, I had to finally seek help from my youngest (and kindest) child. I am
still pretty hopeless, but I am having so much fun! Today, I’d call myself a marginal FB player. I am hooked. But not a hard core
addict. I actually brush my teeth before logging on. All these thoughts were
running through my head as I read the TIME cover story, teasingly titled “ Don’t hate her because she’s successful,”
on Sheryl Sandberg, the uber smart COO of FB. Sandberg’s got a book out (“Lean
In”) through which Sandberg is trying to ‘reboot’ feminism. After reading the
lengthy profile filled with clever quotes, I started to feel a little sorry for
the 43- year -old woman who took FB public and has recently cashed out about
$90 million worth of shares (she is still hanging on to 18 million shares). Interestingly,
the most revelatory chapter of her book
claims : amongst the most important career choices a woman makes is whom to
marry! It is significant that the man, Dave Goldberg, Sandberg herself picked. is described as ‘genial and laid
back’. She claims he manages their money, since she has no interest in it.He
claims they share kiddie duties 50-50. Fair exchange !

Gloria Steinem has extended public support
to Sandberg’s take on 21st century leadership roles for women. Other
feminists are less ecstatic. Sandberg insists “We hold ourselves back in ways, both big and
small,”. Sandberg’s boldly printed motto – RUTHLESSLY PRIORITISE – says it all
about her working style.She talks about the invisible barriers in women’s minds
that stop them from aiming high.This mother of two says she is aware that
success and popularity don’t go together ( “Female accomplishments come at a
cost).” Her thesis is alienating women across the board, especially because it
underlines a common fear - Sandberg suggests women don’t aspire to senior
positions and spend far too much time on housework and child care duties.
Critics point out she’s a fine one for saying this, considering how wealthy she
is and how much house help she employs ( she refuses to talk about it).According
to the article, Sandberg works very hard, but hardly parties, unless it is to
network. Is most of this sounding familiar? So, what is the core message
Sandberg is sending out to career women? Frankly, I am stumped. Feminists of the
old school believe she is exhorting women to be more like men if they want to
succeed. Is she, really? Sandberg ( who sits two desks away from CEO Mark
Zuckerberg) is in a great place right now. As the COO and only woman on the
board of the company, she has her targets in place. Zuckerberg calls her “unique”
for having both, an extremely high I.Q. and E.Q. Sandberg has been officially
dubbed ‘Confidence Woman.” But guess what, even she wonders why women such as
herself don’t generate too many ‘likes’ on FB. I’m not surprised. Are you?

As for me, I am searching for my inner
tycoon. And thinking of becoming a BFF of
every single person I meet on FB! Taking a cue from Sandberg, I shall be
tracking those ‘Likes’ closely henceforth! So, hit that key, guys!

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Sorry about the pics being agdum-bugdum. Am still in a trance after meeting Steven Spielberg last night!

I particularly like the way my books were displayed at the Lit Fest. And as you can tell from my beaming smiles in all the pictures, I had a super fabulous time in Dubai. I am seriously considering wearing the head gear more often. Your verdict???

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This appeared in Mumbai Mirror...

Who pays…..?

“ I don’t believe in ladies’ first,” declared
the young man clad in a too-tight shirt as he tried to snatch the bill out of the
hands of a young woman wearing a too tight skirt. Obviously,both were in a tight spot. But the
person in the tightest spot was the poor server who clearly didn’t want to take
sides. So, he shrugged and waited for the attractive and affluent couple to
slug it out for the cheque. Both were flashing impressive credit cards as they
jumped up and down, she on her high heels, he on his ( yes, men do wear high
heels a lot these days). Other diners in Mumbai’s toniest restaurant ( hint:
the same one which witnessed an ‘exchange’ between a Nawab and a pleb not so
long ago), watched this little drama with much amusement. Soon this couple was
joined by another couple. They were also wearing tight garments and flashing
credit cards ( Platinum? Black? Gold? Diamond studded?). It now looked like all
of them wanted to pay the bill. The ladies in particular, were getting pretty
agro about it. I wanted to butt in and suggest they pay for everybody in the
restaurant while they were at it. But my husband kicked me under the table. The
server was totally forgotten by now. And the four of them attacked the cashier
minding his own business and staring fixedly at the computer. A loud and
spirited conversation ensued. It had to do vaguely with women’s rights and how
these chicks could afford to foot their own bills, and how the men were
behaving like old fashioned uncles by offering to get the tab. The poor men
were beginning to cut tragic figures as they shuffled their feet ( the heels
made it a little difficult), and shrugged a lot ( the tight shirts didn’t
help). Finally, the women won. And the two fellows slunk back to their table to
order another drink. This one, they declared, was definitely on them. The girls
exchanged high fives, winked and asked for a bottle of champagne.

So, who do you think won this round?

This ‘aunty’ (me!) was with her ‘uncle’,
and inevitably we started discussing ‘our times’. There was never a debate on
this issue – the men paid. Period. And that did not necessarily mean it was a
‘date’. Or that the women were expected to sleep with them in return. Women
took men out on special occasions like birthdays. And it was understood it
would be her treat. How? She told him so. Zero embarrassment. No fake nakhra.
If both were kadka, there was always Bade Miya’s. It was okay to scrounge
around for that crumpled tenner and add it to the kitty. But if the guy had a
few bucks on him, he got the ice cream and pop corn at the movies. And the girl
booked the tickets with her pocket money. There were rarely any ego issues to
deal with. When the relationship progressed to the next level and they became
boyfriend-girlfriend officially, all dates happened via consensus. The person
who had the money that particular night, picked up the tab. And nobody kept
hisaab-kitaab. Of course, all that has changed. And it is almost mandatory for
women to arm wrestle the bill out of the server’s leather
folder and make a number out of settling at least ‘her share’. I have
watched couples checking phone calculators and splitting the total to the last
loose change. This is really most inelegant. Bringing money into romance is the
surest way to kill it . If after a lovely, relaxed evening under a moonlight
sky, the guy turns to the woman and comments, “ Drinks are really, really
expensive these days…. Guess how much I just paid?” that’s the end! Phut! Goes
the mood. Khatam! says the woman mentally as she tries not to feel too guilty
about the kharcha-paani. So… what’s the solution? I’d say the old fashioned way
( man pays) works far better on a first date. Woman offers to handle the tricky
moment on the second ( he declines, even if he is stretching himself). Third
time round, the woman insists ( he doesn’t resist).After that, you talk about
it in a casual way and arrive at an arrangement that works for the two of you.
Keep it civilized, polite and transparent, guys. It’s only money!

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Spring Fever.... catch it! I am so looking forward to interacting with my old friend Mahesh Bhatt! We go back a long way..... do any of you remember the path breaking TV serial, a daily soap titled 'Swabhimaan'? Guess what? I was the writer. And Mahesh, the director! Wonder why we never teamed up after that??

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This was written for the Asian Age / Deccan Chronicle....

Does Sunila know it’s
International Women’s Day….?

Year after tiresome year, women the world
over believe the 8th of March is ‘their day’. That some sort of
miracle will take place and hey presto! It will be a beautiful world for women.
This past year has been particularly awful for us. From Malala in Pakistan, to
Nirbhaya in India, defenceless, innocent women were used for target practice…. used,
abused, raped, beaten and murdered in cold blood. And yet, isn’t it amazing
that women can still find it within themselves to smile and carry on? Take our
Sunila. She is twenty and pregnant. She may or may not be married. But she
refers to someone as ‘mera pati’. She is part of the Bai Brigade of Mumbai. The
hard working, incredibly resourceful women who toil in tony homes and go back
to their men late in the evening, to
continue toiling and slaving some more.
Her mother works in the same complex and guess what ? She is also pregnant. The
two women run into each other sometimes as they rush from apartment to
apartment… and their faces instantly light up when that happens. I recently
asked Sunila what she’s so happy about? I asked her mother the same question.
They exchanged glances and patted their swollen bellies - “This!” they replied
in unison. Both said they wished for girls! Now, that was a real eye opener! In
a culture obsessed with producing a male child, here were two women actively
wanting baby girls. Why? The mother Sarikatai pointed proudly to her daughter
and said, “Just look at my girl! Good looking, hard working and SSC pass. She
has never given me a day’s trouble. And look at my worthless son. SSC fail –
not once, but three times.Does nothing. Like his father. Sleeps all day, eats
and drinks away our earnings. But my Sunila! She’s a gem. Found her own man and
married without a fuss. No dowry, nothing. Her man is a good chap. He works in
a bank as a peon. And studies at night. Both want to learn how to use
computers. I want my next one to be another Sunila.” Listening to her mother,
Sunila brushed the praise aside. She had her own reasons for wanting a
daughter. “ I will make her study hard… do well… become someone. A doctor or
pilot. My husband wants her to become a scientist. I tell him, forget all this.
What if she wants to become Miss India?” The women share a meager mid-day meal,
frequently supplemented by leftovers given by their fancy ‘madams’. Both women
have really seen it all in the homes they work in, and yet, are far from
jealous or judgemental. The Madams and their Sirs, drink, gamble, wear sexy
clothes and spend vast amounts of money. The women smile indulgently at the
disparity and excess. “ It is God’s grace. These are aamir people. They must
have done something good in their previous life, for God to have given them so much in this one. Some of them are kind and generous. They give us old
clothes – not torn and tattered ones either, but hardly used sarees and salwar
kameezes. They trust us with expensive jewelry. They know we will never touch
what is not ours. ”

So, I ask them , sounding a little foolish
to my own ears, “What did you do for International Women’s Day ( they were
aware of it) that you don’t do during the rest of the year?” Their answers
delighted me! The mother beamed, “I made puran poli for the family…. especially
for the men. After all, if they don’t feel involved in our celebration, how can
we enjoy ourselves?” Her daughter added, “ And I wore a new sari. I had made my
husband buy it for me. Pink! His favourite colour. And mine, as well. All my Madams
paid me compliments. One Madam gave me five hundred rupees and told me to buy
something. It was a great day in our
locality.” That is just so fantastic! One can be cynical and say , “ Wow! So the hard sell and heavy duty marketing actually work!” Or one can look at it more
positively. If the message of that day has made its way to these ladies, it is
indeed time to rejoice. Feeling good about oneself as a woman, in as harsh a landscape as ours,
is a major feat. And a big leap into a brighter future. For Sarika and Sunila
and their unborn children, there is an unmistakable sense of optimism and hope.
Are they merely deluding themselves? I think not! Both ladies operate their own bank accounts. They have started saving for
their little ones. They didn’t wait for our FM to announce the launch of
exclusive banks for women. They just went ahead and did what they had to. They
are willing to take their chances and move ahead with their plans, despite the
most daunting odds. No concessions. No alibis. They don’t judge one another or
others. Not even their hoity toity memsaabs, who spent 8th March in an entirely different
way ( you don’t really want to know!).

Years ago, I used to mock the tokenism of
International Women’s day. It served no real purpose, I’d say, apart from
pushing some tacky merchandise and enriching bar tenders pouring those extra
potent shots down thirsty female throats
in various bars worldwide. But that was then. Perhaps I am speaking too soon
when I say, women have moved well past that tokenism today. Women Like Sarika
and Sunila. They are the ones who will bring it on …these are the first real converts, as
compared to earlier urban pretenders.And when their daughters arrive, that will
be the time to look out for. Those who refuse to acknowledge the power of that
moment, will be left open- mouthed wondering what exactly happened when no one
was looking!

Sunday, March 10, 2013

I got back a few hours ago from the excellently organised Emirates Lit Fest in Dubai. It is in its fifth edition this year.... all credit must go to Isobel ( the handsome, dynamic lady pictured above ) for pulling it off with such panache! With over a 100 top drawer international writers present, you'd think it was impossible for any one person to steal the show, right? Well, Ben Okri did it effortlessly! He was just brilliant on stage. And adorable, off it! We spoke at length.... about the Mahabharata, the Greek epic poems, African mythology, F.Scott Fitzgerald ("" The Last Tycoon' is a meditation on Hollywood - you must re read it...") and Bollywood. The youngest winner of the Booker Prize, Okri hynotised his listeners as he recited his poems under the stars during a session titled 'Desert Stanzas'. I enjoyed all four of my own sessions. But bringing in Anandita's birthday in Dubai this year, will always remain a very special memory!
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Sunday, March 3, 2013

We Indians are very family minded. The
whole world knows that. We love our families. Karan Johar told us to. And made
a fortune based on that sweet and simple emotion. Others have also realized the
value of family ties in the lives of desis. They too want to make a fortune out
of them. What’s wrong with that? The Great Indian Family represents many things
to many people. Understanding how it works is the key to prospering in this
great and good land of ours. Whether we are selling movies to the masses or
helicopters to the armed forces, it is important to keep ‘The Family’ happy. In
Asian societies, it’s a little tricky, though. Where does ‘The Family’ begin
and end? Does it include the in-laws? Does the ‘Damaadji’ count as family?Foreigners
dealing with our complex family maze don’t always get it. That makes it easier
for us. We can fool them aaram se, by talking about our complicated joint
family system and the power of mighty ‘parivaar’ that dominates our society.
Where does the joint family stop? Don’t ask. For those who cannot figure it
out, we must be considerate and show them a few family soaps on television.
Those are an education in themselves. With a cast of hundreds,everybody is
related to everybody else.And everybody is out to get everybody else. If we
need to access the head of the clan, we have to negotiate our way past dozens
of middle men. Each step requires secrecy and skill.And lots of spare cash.
There are tacticians for hire, who can point in the right direction, provided
they are given a baksheesh for their efforts. The head of the family can be the
Tauji or Badi Maaji. These days, it’s generally the all-powerful Daadisa who
rules with an iron hand. She is also referred to simply as ‘Madam’ by
underlings. Going straight to ‘Madam’ is next to impossible. But there are
ways. Madam prefers to leave complicated decisions to her trusted few. These
include smart, sharp in-laws, who can be in residence within the sprawling
family bungalow or staying overseas. And that’s when the plot gets interesting.

‘The Family’ in India holds a position of
enormous privilege and power. In fact, so potent is its position, that rivals
refuse to name family members when a scandal breaks out. Actually, this suits
everyone splendidly. Indians are used to covering up for the many sins of
family members. Elders point out it is this marvelous trait that has kept us
together for centuries. They scoff at the way the West deals with the
issue. Family has little meaning there,
except in Italy, where, like in India, ‘The Family’ rules. In fact, the
similarities between India and Italy on the domestic front are incredible
indeed. Which is precisely what makes it easy for us to interact with Italians
and understand family dynamics there. Mere pass Mamma Mia hai, is the way it
works. Like us, they also support worthless family members, emotionally,
financially, legally. They cover up for the naughty ones who break rules and
get caught. They reward those who also break rules but succeed. There is an
unwritten code of honour in both
countries. Outsiders are expected to respect that and keep mum. Anybody who
challenges ‘The Family’ has to pay the price for the betrayal. This is what
protects ‘The Family’. And seals mouths. Enemies who threaten to break up
families are dealt with firmly and permanently. A deal is a deal. Whether it
involves ten bucks or 3000 crores. We are so lucky, here in India, and there in
Italy. We know in our hearts and minds that so long as we protect ‘The Family’
we are protected. The minute ‘The Family’ goes, so many heads start to roll.
This can lead to anarchy, chaos, instability, insecurity, confusion. People can
feel let down and demoralized, particularly those who have stuck to ‘The Family’
through thick and thin and supported rogue relatives during turbulent times.
Funny, how crises can lead to long term change. We are at that crossroad right
now. The biggest dilemma facing us is what to do with ‘The Family’? Will we be
reckless enough to go after the greedy ones who have received hefty kickbacks
over the years and are sitting on piles of slush funds? Will it be seen as a
witch hunt? Will the designated heir suffer for the sins of others? Can we
afford to abandon those we love and worship? If that happens, as Gabbar Singh
would ask, ‘ Phir hamara kya hoga,Kaliya?

Saturday, March 2, 2013

Do I see the third generation athlete in the family??? Anasuya Devi on her sport's day ...

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Being a ‘mahila’…

Let’s start with being a ‘mahila’ at the
two Mumbai airports first. Domestic and International.For some entirely
illogical reason,there are separate lines for women at the security gates, and
trust me, they are often longer than the several lanes reserved for men. This
arrangement is obviously based on an assumption that far fewer women than men
travel by air. And that one queue reserved exclusively for women, ought to
facilitate easy movement for all passengers. Clearly , the mighty authorities
have forgotten to remove their puraana blinkers . Hello? Wake up! Have you not
noticed the number of women on the move these days? Try taking any morning
flight out of Mumbai and you’ll see a
serpentine line of long suffering mahilas, often with babies in their arms,
waiting to clear the bottleneck without actually collapsing. Picture their
plight : One newborn in their arms ( after a maiike trip to deliver the baby),
another toddler tugging the mother’s
dupatta, not to forget a stroller brimming over with nappies, bottles, toys and
other baby stuff, along with a back pack with more bachcha paraphernalia, plus
a laptop bag. Also, waiting impatiently in the same endless line are our fierce
corporate women dressed in no nonsense business suits and high heels. They are
all set to rush to a meeting straight from the airport and rush right back at
night. The queue has stayed frozen for over fifteen minutes. The conveyor belt
leading to the x-ray machine is clogged with gigantic handbags ( look… women
need their stuff, okay?). The person manning the machine is taking a chai
break. The female cops in the screening area are taking their gossip break.
Meanwhile, there are several babies screaming in one voice. All the men who had
checked in at exactly the same time, have
finished negotiating their far shorter and rapidly moving lines , and
are striding off to grab a coffee before boarding the aircraft. But we are
still stuck in the blessed queue waiting for bodies to budge from the exact
same spot .

Is
this fair? We don’t need those special made-for-mahilas concessions in such a
scenario.Thank you, Finance Minister, we really don't need banks for women... .W e need more loos! We are good with regular mixed queues that actually move efficiently.
That’s how it works all over the world. One queue fits all. Except in the Middle
East. This is how it should be at our airports , too. If jostle we must, let’s do it in a more equal
way. I have watched foreign ladies shaking their heads in disbelief when they
have been firmly told to go stand at the back of the line meant for women after
they have waited for half an hour and made it to the front of the
men’s section. If these separate queues are designed to protect our modesty,
it’s a sweet but essentially silly attempt. I get shoved around far more by
aggressive women in a tearing hurry to rush past everybody else, than those
poor guys behaving themselves in the other lines would ever dream of doing. The clumsy manner in which this system is working at
present, makes zero sense. And amounts to reverse discrimination. Plus, we are
at the receiving end of pretty rude stares and comments from men who mistakenly
think we are in some amazingly advantageous situation. Relax, guys. Try
crashing that line and find out for yourselves.

During peak hours ( and these days, every
hour qualifies as ‘peak’), a harried airline staffer generally shows up out of
nowhere and requests some of the women to go ahead and place their bags on the
‘other’ belt. Women push past one another to the freshly formed, shorter queue.
Guess what? This is a totally dumb plan, because even if the bags slide
smoothly through the x-ray machine, you still have to go back to the ‘mahila’
queue for the body search! There has to be a sensible way out of this annoying
rigmarole. Why not more screening booths for women? And two or three x-ray
machines instead of one? If discriminate we must, let’s do it intelligently.
More and more women are travelling by air these days. Female traffic at
airports is bound to double and treble in the coming years. Let’s factor that
in and increase those wretched lanes to accommodate additional numbers, or else us ‘mahilas’ will
be left holding the baby… as usual.